


Meraki

by LynMars79



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dragons, Dragoons, Gen, Heavensward, Soul Crystal, Stormblood, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 20:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18598513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynMars79/pseuds/LynMars79
Summary: Definition: to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself into your work.I seem to have dragons and dragoons on the brain lately.





	Meraki

Mireille laughed as the wind whistled past her ears, nothing but clear blue sky and fluffy white clouds as far as she could see, as she rose and rose and rose…

...Until gravity reasserted its claim, as she reached the apex of her leap. Then began the even swifter descent, the wind screaming now. She twisted, the ground hundreds of yalms below, the trees like toys but growing ever closer.

Still she did not stop laughing.

“Mireille!” A familiar voice called. A blur of deeper blue cut across the sky, and with a whump she landed on the broad belly of Blen Esk. He was almost too hot to the touch, and growling as he grasped her in his claws to help her shift to his back. “Reckless,” he exclaimed in his native tongue.

“Fun,” she countered, finding her seat once more. “If we practice, I could land safely upon your back after such a dive.”

“You cannot fly, child,” he said, switching to the elezen’s speech. “I am here to aid you; allow me to be your wings.”

“But that’s just it; I would need a much longer--and more unwieldy--spear to fight effectively from your back. But if I can leap to our enemies, manipulating my aether just enough to stay aloft until you catch me, there’s much more that we could do.”

“And you think it fun,” he growled.

“Well it is,” Mireille laughed. She fell back, laying across the dragon’s spine. Above them, the sky was an endless dome of azure. She wanted to dive into it once again, but even Blen’s considerable patience had its limits. “We and the others have been tasked with learning to work together, but treating you like a common mount to ride into battle strikes me as indecent. We are partners in this endeavor, are we not?”

The dragon rumbled as he thought. They drifted along a current that wend its way through the mountains, covering malms in moments.

Mireille felt him shiver and toss his head, and she grinned, knowing before he spoke again that she had already won him over. “Very well, young knight,” he said. “We shall practice your leaping, and my catching you, until we do not even need to see to know each other’s position.”

“You’re almost sounding poetic, old man.”

“Hrmph. I fear you shall fling yourself into the firmament regardless. This way we shall have to agree upon conditions and safety measures.”

Mireille laughed once more. “All right, all right. Shall we get started, then? I want to have something impressive to show the others, when we return from this patrol.”

Blen Esk sighed heavily as she began to lay out her ideas, talking almost too quickly to keep up. Still, he listened--and had to admit, if only to himself, that her enthusiasm was infectious.

This could work, he thought. This could change everything.

* * *

 Scars covered his blue scales, and he felt heavy as he walked along the crumbling wall to find a good spot to soak up the sun. It had been so much colder since the smaller moon fell so recently; it made his bones ache.

Blen Esk wondered if perhaps it would soon be time for him to seek a place in the caverns of Mourn and drift off to sleep.

There was a stir in the ruined courtyard below. Blen lifted his head to see what was the matter now; it seemed there had not been a moment’s peace since young Ysayle had brought the Warrior of Light and the Azure Dragoon through Anyx Trine. Had they returned yet again?

Had they even left? It was so difficult to keep track of mortals and their limited time.

Below, Vedrfolnir’s little troublemaker of a son was flitting about, speaking quickly and with far too many words to Vidofnir, who listened patiently. Between them, Mireille stood, trying to keep her military bearing but obviously nervous--

Blen looked again. That could not be right. Mireille was dead these twelve hundred years, and the girl in the courtyard did not bear even a passing physical resemblance to that knight of eld.

And yet…

Blen stretched and leapt off the wall to the courtyard.

“...And so that is why I want to offer Heustienne a place here,” Orn Khai was saying, barely any breath left in his tiny frame as his rambling finally came to an end.

Vidofnir was eying her nephew and the woman beside him, though her gaze turned toward Blen as he landed on the stones nearby. The woman--Heustienne, apparently--jumped, her hands instinctively reaching for her spear before she stopped herself, eyes wide and stance shifting as she looked between Vidofnir and Blen.

“Blen Esk; is there something you need?” Vidofnir said, continuing in the mortal tongue for their guest’s benefit.

He studied the lance she wore. “A knight dragoon of Ishgard?” He addressed the girl directly.

She hesitated, then clenched her fists and looked up, expression defiant. “Yes, despite--despite everything. They think I’m dead, but I would still serve them, against those who will not let go of the war--” She stopped, clutching her chest as the draconic aether in her roared, demanding to be released in fang and claw and wing.

Orn Khai fluttered around her nervously. “Easy, my friend,” he crooned. “Blen Esk means no harm. I think.” He peered at his elder. “She was made to drink Graoully’s blood,” Orn Khai explained.

Blen scoffed; he had oft fought Graoully, and had not mourned the news of his death. “If you are a knight, you have a crystal,” Blen said.

Heustienne glowered up at him. “You want proof that I am a dragoon? I, who was second to the Azure Dragoon?”

“I care not for your rank,” Blen replied. “I only ask that you humor an old fool.”

Heustienne almost seemed to fold in on herself for a moment, but then straightened again, holding out her gloved hand. Nestled in her palm was a tiny, brilliant blue soul crystal.

In the wind that whispered through the ruins of the Trine, Blen heard the echo of long-ago laughter.

He turned to Vidofnir, who was studying him, patiently waiting. “Let her stay. Let him help her,” Blen said in dragonspeak. Vidofnir nodded once. Blen turned back to the girl, and spoke again in the tongue of men.

“Souls do not allow themselves to be used by just anyone. There must be a resonance. Your strength and will are your own--but you are not alone in your struggle. You carry your forebears with you. There is more than how to wield a lance they can aid you with.”

Blen pushed off the ground, his flapping wings almost blowing both small Orn Khai and the girl tail over snout. He reached the top of the wall and continued above and past it, toward the fields stretching south into the Wastes; he suddenly felt like hunting.

Perhaps the girl would regain her control. Perhaps she would rediscover the joy of leaping through the air, trusting there would be wings to catch her. Perhaps, even, Mireille’s soul would remind her descendent how to laugh as Heustienne practiced her craft to defend her people and dragons both.

He would like to see that, he thought.

Perhaps Blen Esk was not quite ready for Mourn yet after all.


End file.
